


The Wait

by DaisyFairy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Possibly Pre-Slash, Scared John, Set before the pool I guess, Surgery, Waiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 11:00:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12231483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaisyFairy/pseuds/DaisyFairy
Summary: Sherlock is in surgery and John waits. He realises that he needs Sherlock in his life.





	The Wait

**Author's Note:**

> Paragraphs in italics are John's thoughts.

John is waiting for Sherlock to come out of theatre. He sits in a hard plastic chair in a dingy corridor near to the operating rooms. An empty disposable coffee cup is on the floor next to the chair leg. One of the strip lights flickers intermittently and John shivers in the chilled air.

His fists clench and release over and over  in his lap, and every few minutes he checks the time on his watch. Every time someone walks down the corridor his eyes track them until he is certain they are not going to approach him. When the door to the recovery room opens he half stands, but slumps into his seat again when a nurse emerges and walks in the opposite direction.

_It's only half an hour, any minute now they'll be out. Any minute they'll come to get me._

He shifts in his seat for a few more minutes, then gives up to go to the nearby nurses desk.

“Do you know what's happening with my friend. He went in for a minor op, they said two hours but it's been two and a half.”

The nurse behind the desk looks up from her computer screen and smiles reassuringly, “Sorry, no. I'm sure they'll be out soon with news.”

John nods and returns to his seat.

_I know that smile, I've given that smile, the ‘Keep the relatives calm, never promise anything, I'm busy won't  you just fuck off with your stupid questions’ smile. It means nothing. She doesn’t know._

John shifts again on his chair and regrets the coffee, he needs the loo but daren't leave now. Five minutes pass but it feels like five hours.

_What if something went wrong? It should have been simple but, an unexpected reaction to drugs, heart failure, what if? Get it together, he's fine, it's only 35 minutes._

John wriggles. He can't leave, he needs to know, to see Sherlock, but his bladder feels fit to burst. Another twinge from his bladder causes him to re-evaluate, whatever is happening, whatever he needs to deal with, it won't be helped by being covered in piss. Giving in he approaches the woman behind the desk again.

“I'm going to the loo, I'm waiting on news for Sherlock Holmes, if they come out tell them I'll be right back.”

She barely glances at him, “Holmes, right, I'll let them know.”

John dashes down the corridor and follows the signs around the corner to find the visitors toilets. He uses them as quickly as possible, and washes his hands thoroughly. The last thing Sherlock needs on waking up is being given a stomach bug picked up from the hospital toilets.

Rushing back to the waiting area John's heart is in his mouth.

_What if they came out while I wasn’t there? What if Sherlock is awake and needs me? What if, what if he isn’t awake, will never be awake?_

He reaches the desk just short of a run, but the nurse soon assures him there has been no news. John returns to his seat and checks his watch for the millionth time. 42 minutes late.

_It's my fault. I told him to have the op. Just a lipoma, just a lump, totally benign, it could have been left, would have been fine, but it kept catching on his collar, and Sherlock was so bloody grumpy about it. I told him it would be fine,  just a little op I said, and it would be gone, and now. Now. Oh God._

The door opens again and John holds his breath, but the nurse that emerges walks straight past him.

_Get a grip, it's fine. They probably started late, or the surgeon doesn’t want to blemish Sherlock's bloody perfect skin and is spending far too long getting the stitches just right. Oh please let it be fine. I can't, I can't be without him. I, oh God, I need him._

Another watch check. 47 minutes. His leg jiggles and his fist clenches again. He swallows hard and closes his eyes. He hears the by now familiar sound of the recovery room door opening, he doesn’t want to look, but forces his eyes to open and sees the nurse standing directly in front of him.

“Doctor Watson? I'm sorry for the delay but Mr Holmes is in recovery. We normally wouldn’t let you in there but he's rather insistent that he wants to see you.”

John stands so fast he nearly stumbles. He follows the nurse through the swing door. He can hear the unmistakable sound of his flatmate's loud but rather slurred voice repeating his name over and over. John ignores all of the medical equipment, just focuses on the man with dark curly hair lying on the hospital bed with a bandage and smear of dried blood on his neck and an IV in his hand. Bleary eyes peer up at him and John has to blink away the tears that have formed in his eyes.

“Jooohhn. You came.” Sherlock says with a dopy smile.

John takes a shuddering breath, “I'll always come for you, idiot.”

Sherlock blinks slowly, then slower, then his eyes close and don’t open. His lips curve up just a little at the edges as he sleeps.

John watches him breathe, alive and safe.

_I need to leave, meet Sherlock when he is in his private room, but, just a few more breaths just a few more seconds._

The nurse is standing by waiting and John allows himself to be ushered out, casting a last glance back as the swing door closes behind him.

_Sherlock is fine, we are fine, we will be fine. Together._

**Author's Note:**

> This was written very much based on waiting for my son to come out of surgery a few years ago, and prompted by him being referred for another one in the next 6 months so putting me through it all over again. (Don't worry, just like Sherlock, it is nothing serious).


End file.
